


In and Out

by Ceata88



Series: Hanzo Shimada hates Jesse McCree [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, I hc that McCree and Winston share a love of peanut butter, and hanzo has three minor strokes, mccree's a pro at escaping prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 07:42:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8363716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceata88/pseuds/Ceata88
Summary: Hanzo was certain that McCree was a fool, and was more certain his thoughts were proven correct when a mistake lands them both in prison. 
But now Hanzo's not sure what to think anymore





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a writing machine right now holy shit......
> 
> apologize for errors I only did minor editing to this

    Hanzo Shimada _hated_ Jesse McCree.  
  
    He hated the way he behaved out on the field, like the whole job was a joke. He hated the spontaneous plans and witty one-liners he’d spit while they hid from a spray of bullets.   
  
    He hated that so many of the other team members went along with it. He hated hearing Tracer and Genji laughing at the things he would say. He hated Winston acknowledging that one of his crazy schemes was a good idea. How could it be? It was reckless, barbaric, the sort of thing one did when they were out of options.  
  
    Then again, they sometimes were.   
  
    But in this case–this case–it was McCree’s fault in the first place.   
  
    Hanzo had been forced from his position by enemy forces. He was quick to get to lower ground, using the space between buildings as cover from fire. He never asked McCree to come to his aid, but there the cowboy was, watching behind them as they ran. Winston called for a retreat, their target obtained, but right now the enemy blocked their path.   
  
    They needed to get to higher ground again. Even if Hanzo could line them up in these alleys it didn’t seem to be happening. Too many of their opponents were taking side roads. A couple of men suddenly dashed in from the left, guns raised.   
  
    McCree shot them down in a blink of an eye.   
  
    Hanzo readied an arrow as he ran, the cord attached to it would allow even McCree to scale the wall. By now the police sirens were blaring around them. Hanzo didn’t know if their opponents would flee or confront the authorities, but he didn’t care to find out.   
  
    Hanzo stopped his run, arrow aimed at the wall.  
  
    McCree barreled into him. His aim faltered when he released the arrow. It clanged against a gutter as it bounced back towards them. Avoiding it did little good when it rocketed off a trash can, whizzing past McCree’s head.   
  
    Hanzo was ready to curse, spit a good number of insults to replace the amount of rounds he wanted to fire into the cowboy, but then something caught his ankle. He fell back onto the ground, McCree landing on top of him. Looking down he could see their legs tangled together with the rope from his arrow.   
  
    “Foolish,” he sputtered out as he tried to shove McCree off. “Look what you did.”   
  
    “Sorry sweetheart, I didn’t realize you were gonna-”   
  
    “Police!” A man shouted up the alley. Hanzo could hear all of their footsteps, the clicks of a few guns. This was just a fine mess they were in.   
  
    “Shit, damn,” McCree’s eyes darted around for a few seconds. He pulled his comm out of his ear and looked at it. “Hanzo give me your comm.”  
  
    The archer frowned, confused. “What for? Is yours broken?” He pulled it out  and handed it to McCree. “Tell Winston that-”  
  
    Suddenly McCree crushed it between his fingers.  
  
    “What? What are you doing?” Hanzo shouted.  
  
    “If you’re gonna be angry, do me a favor and put a dent in my arm.”   
  
    Hanzo would have argued at the ludicrousy of it, spat his insults even further, but now he didn’t care. He grabbed his now useless grappling arrow and jammed it into McCree’s wrist.  
  
    The cowboy spat out something in Spanish, clutching his arm with gritted teeth. “Damn sweetheart, not that hard.”   
  
    He kneed McCree in the thigh, desperate to get the cowboy off of him, but the police did that a few seconds later. His satisfaction at seeing McCree get his face shoved in the dirt was quickly destroyed when he followed suit. The handcuffs were put on far too tight, but it made sense. The only reason he didn’t fight back was the gun pressed against the back of his neck.  
  
    He was an assassin, he could handle men like this, but he also knew his teammates would not appreciate it.   
  
    Overwatch was already illegal, why draw attention to that fact?   
  
    Their weapons were gathered up as they were shoved towards the cars. McCree kept chattering away with the cop holding him, smiling and laughing the whole time. Hanzo shot him the sharpest glare he could.  
  
    Keep your mouth shut. Don’t tell them anything. Quit antagonizing them.   
  
    “Hey Jerry, should we take them in separate cars?” One man glanced between them. “Samurai Jack here looks like he’s ready to tear out John Wayne’s throat.”   
  
    “It’s Clint Eastwood, thank you very much.” McCree snickered. “And this here’s Legolas.”   
  
    Hanzo spun around and bared his teeth.  
  
    The police agreed to use different cars.   
  
    The ride to the station was painfully silent. Even with two men in the front neither of them dared to speak as Hanzo never broke eye contact with the rear view mirror. He thought about all the ways he could get out of this. Breaking out of cuffs would take effort but he could do it. He could kill these men and escape.  
  
    But he couldn’t do that. He’d have to find a cleaner way when he got to the station.  
  
    The dragons were restless under his skin, partially taunting him for the situation he was in. _This is just as much your fault as it is his,_ is what they were saying.  
  
    He promptly ignored them.   
  
    They were dragged inside together, shoved into the back while the chief asked them basic questions. Hanzo refused to speak, refused to give away anything. He held his tongue even as they carelessly tossed his bow onto the table next to McCree’s peacekeeper.   
  
    One of the officers picked at McCree’s prosthetic, frowning at it. The damage from Hanzo’s arrow was obvious, even producing sparks if he twisted his wrist in the right direction.   
  
    Hanzo frowned as he studied the cowboy’s cuffs. He’d seen the man block bullets with that hand before, could he not break out of a simple pair of cuffs?   
  
    “Jesse McCree,” the chief stated as he tossed a copy of the poster on the table. “Didn’t think we’d drag someone like you in here.”   
  
    “Didn’t think I’d get dragged in here, sir.”  
  
    “And Hanzo Shimada.”  
  
    He flinched at the sound of his name and stared down at the photo on the table. A very unflattering image to say the least.   
  
    “Now what on earth is a pair like you doing here?”  
  
    “He was after my bounty,” McCree grinned. “Too bad it looks like you got to it first, huh sweetheart?”   
  
    Hanzo kicked him in the shin, hard. McCree howled in pain and a group of officers tugged Hanzo back, keeping a tight grip on his shoulders.  
  
    The chief finally waved them out of the room, mentioning something about contacting the higher ups about this. Great, just great, higher law enforcement would get involved. The UN would eventually discover them, eventually tie it down to Overwatch. All of this was just _fantastic._  
  
    He blamed McCree.   
  
    He hoped that notion was obvious as they sat in opposite cells. The police returned for them separately, dragging them into different interrogation rooms. Hanzo kept to his silence, refusing to speak, regardless of what they did or said.  
  
    He had been through much worse and they did not have the legal rights to repeat it.   
  
    McCree was still gone by the time they gave up on him. The cell across from him remained empty but he could see a crowd of men in the one down the hall. One of them whistled at him while the rest laughed.   
  
    Such a shame Hanzo hadn’t been put in with them, something to vent his frustration out on.   
  
    When McCree was returned to his cell he was laughing. Blood dripped down from his nose and he tried to wipe it off on his shoulder. What had the fool done this time?  
  
    “Damn, Mick’s got quite a punch to him.” He kept laughing as he sat on the bed. “And look at you, were they too scared to punch your pretty face? Maybe they thought those cheek bones of your would cut into their knuckles. If not that maybe your eyes.”  
  
    “Silence.”  
  
    “Aw, come on, enjoy the chit chat, sweetheart.”  
  
    “Stop calling me that,” he growled.   
  
    “Nah, don’t think I will.”  
  
    “Look at the situation we’re in, the one you got us into. If we do not find a way out of this we could put our entire team at risk.”  
  
    McCree snorted, spitting a few drops of blood into the air. “I already got a way out sweetheart, the hell do you take me for?”   
  
   _A fool._ “You have a plan?”  
  
    “I always got a plan, sweetheart, now just calm down before you give your pretty face wrinkles.”   
  
    Hanzo gave up trying to discuss it. If McCree did have a plan, which seemed a little unlikely at the moment, it was obvious he wasn’t going to discuss it. He tried to meditate, calm himself, think of his own way out of this mess.   
  
    They sat in there for the rest of the day. It wasn’t until evening that anything changed. Most of the officers had gone home, only the one who arrested McCree was still lurking around. His shift change must not have come in.   
  
    “You still here Mick?” McCree jeered from his cell as the officer stepped past the cell doors.   
  
    “I told you that’s not my name.”   
  
    “Officer Stoutland? Or maybe Jeeves. What do you think about Ricky?”  
  
    Officer Ricky banged on the cell doors. “What do you think of another bloody nose?”  
  
    “Ooh, how do you know I wouldn’t like that?” McCree licked his upper lip before he laughed. “My gran punched harder than you do anyway.”   
  
    What was this fool doing now? Hanzo let himself sit up as he watched the situation unfold. Making enemies with this men wouldn’t assist them.   
  
    Officer Jeeves threw open the door. Hanzo groaned and let his head hit the wall behind him. He swore if McCree wound up with a concussion he wouldn’t carry him out of here. He wouldn’t explain all of this to Mercy.   
  
    He missed what happened. Only the clang of the bars had him staring back across the hall. Officer Stoutland was on the ground, bleeding out of his nose. McCree cracked his knuckles and whistled. One of the cuffs still hung on his wrist, the other a mangled mess.   
  
    “Gotta love the shift change,” McCree hummed as he searched for the officers keys. “Sorry there Mick, you were just too easy.”   
  
    Hanzo stood up, rushing over to his cell door. He watched McCree unlock the remaining cuff, dropping it on the ground before stepping out.   
  
    “How is this a plan?” Is what Hanzo asked as he tried to piece together what was going on.   
  
    “Look, sweetheart,” McCree tossed the cell keys down the hall, into the reach of the other men. “I know you hate me, I kind of hate you too, but just trust me for a little while, okay?”  
  
    “Says the man who got us into this situation in the first place. And why did you toss them the keys before-”  
  
    McCree’s prosthetic gripped the cell door, ripping it clean off it’s hinges.   
  
    Hanzo ignored the sliver of fear that ran down his spine. The prisoners down the hall got their door open, hollering as they ran out. An alarm went off.   
  
    “Come on, sweetheart, we gotta get out of dodge.”   
  
    Hanzo wanted to protest. He wanted answers. What kind of crazy scheme was this? If McCree could have broken out of those cuffs why didn’t he do it earlier? If they got out where were they going to go?   
  
    But he didn’t get to protest. McCree didn’t let him. That metal hand–the one that could block bullets, catch arrows and snap cuffs like a twig–was now gripping his wrist and dragging him down the hallway. The pressure was strangely light, but Hanzo could only stare at it.   
  
    It would take nothing to break his wrist.  
  
    Not that McCree did, he simply lead him into the storage room. A couple of other criminals were in there, grabbing weapons and other gear. McCree tossed Hanzo his bow and put on his serape and hat before pocketing his peacekeeper. Then he was out the door again, rushing to the parking lot, towards all the patrol cars. The officers that were actually on duty were occupied with the group of escaping prisoners indoors. One of them noticed, of course, but his shouts were cut off when another man tackled him to the ground.   
  
    “Hop in sweetheart, we’re blowing this joint.”   
  
    Another string of questions exploded in Hanzo’s mind, but he didn’t hesitate to hop inside. Perhaps McCree had stolen the keys among everything else he managed in there.   
  
    But nope, the cowboy snapped open the control panel and dug into the wires.   
  
    Distant sirens got his attention.  
  
    “McCree,” he hissed.   
  
    “Relax, sweetheart.” He kept spitting the title as he sparked a pair of wires together. The vehicle roared to life and McCree slapped the wheel and laughed. Carjacking was rarely ideal, as it force you to drive manually, but the cowboy had no problem snapping it into reverse and stomping on the gas.   
  
    Hanzo snapped his seatbelt on and gripped onto the door handle. McCree spun the car around when it hit the road, his foot barely leaving the gas as he put it in drive. His grin was wild, eyes glittering as he laughed again. He tapped at the radio, bringing up the communication channel. Hanzo could barely catch the english through the static, but McCree seemed to understand it, swerving onto a side road, maintaining his speed.   
  
    “Damn,” he laughed. “Woo, damn, wasn’t that a riot?”   
  
    “McCree.”   
  
    “We gotta find a safe place fast though. The sooner we can ditch this car the better.”  
  
    “McCree.”   
  
    “Have to contact the others and-”  
  
    “And how do you plan to do that?” Hanzo snapped, he was finally able to snap. It took everything he had not to wrench the wheel out of McCree’s grip. “What even was that plan? You broke our communicators, cost us our weapons, got yourself a bloody nose and a black eye and-”  
  
    “I got us out.”   
  
    “You could have done it sooner.”   
  
    McCree scoffed as he slowed down. His eye roll was strong enough to move his whole head. “You ever been arrested, sweetheart?”  
  
    “No, I was never foolish enough to.”  
  
    McCree paused at that, “okay, granted, but you never got arrested. You have no experience breaking out.”   
  
    “What’s your point?” Hanzo gritted his teeth.  
  
    “Here’s the point,” McCree swerved down another road, smiling when Hanzo’s face smacked against the window. “If the cops didn’t have the tech to trace our comms they could have given it to someone who could. Breaking my arm made it look cheaper than it actually is. Drop their guard, make them under estimate you, that you’re just some other run of the mill criminal.”  
  
    He tore through a red light. Thankfully no one was coming from the other directions.   
  
    “Piss ‘em off, make ‘em hate you, let them rough you around a bit. They feel safe and in control. Then you can just wait until you get the right time to break out, like a shift change. Trust me, during the big hours that place would have had twice the man power. I know you love starting fights but I could do without one that huge.”   
  
    Hanzo grit his teeth, refusing to admit that it all made sense. “And why let them arrest us in the first place?”  
  
    McCree smiled, “why did you let ‘em?”  
  
    The archer slid his jaw around for a moment. “Because killing them was not ideal.”   
  
    “Exactly,” the cowboy’s fingers drummed on the wheel. “Anyway, time to call up the others I guess.”   
  
    He slowed down as he pulled into an empty parking lot, the office building closed down for the day. He drove the car around behind it before shutting the radio off.  
  
    “And how do you plan on doing this? You broke our-”  
  
    “I know, sweetheart.” There was an edge to his tone. “Just let me work, for crying out loud.”  
  
    Hanzo crossed his arms and watched as McCree opened the panel to the radio. More wire fiddling that he couldn’t understand as McCree turned on the radio, switching around with the stations. At first it was just the police voices again, but it melted away to static and gave way to others. He heard the sounds of men on a truck route, a group speaking in german, and even a strange news broadcast.   
  
    “Hmm,” McCree hummed before picking up the communicator. “Gotta be a frequency here somewhere.”  
  
    “What are you doing?” Hanzo–for the first time ever–tried not to sound rude.  
  
    “Hacking the radio. We used to do this a lot back in Deadlock, listen in on the police conversations.” He laughed. “Too bad we never hacked into Blackwatch’s.”   
  
    All the voices faded out from the radio, producing nothing but static. McCree’s humming returned as he tapped against the communicator.   
  
    Suddenly a voice cut into it.  
  
     _“McCree?”_ Winston said.  
  
    “Aw, hey big guy there you are.” McCree’s entire face brightened. “I was worried you wouldn’t hear us.”  
  
   _“For a second I was worried someone hacked into our system.”_  
  
    “Nope, just me.”  
  
   _“What happened to you and Hanzo?”_  
  
    “We got arrested,” the cowboy laughed.  
  
    Hanzo snorted with disgust. “McCree’s foolishness got us arrested.”   
  
     _“But you’re out now?”_ Winston avoided the oncoming argument.   
  
    “Yup, a pick up would be appreciated.”  
  
     _“Tracer’s still in the area. I’ll let her know.”_  
  
    “Thanks, sir. Tell her we’ll be at the local Ben and Jerry’s.”  
  
     _“What? McCree that’s risky.”_  
  
    “Hey, whatever, what flavor do you want? I’ll get us a few tubs.”  
  
    There was silence over the radio for the longest time. _“Peanut butter.”_  
  
    McCree laughed. “You got it big guy, we’ll be waiting.”   
  
    The cowboy was whistling again as he cut off the communication. Hanzo jumped when he punched the radio, smashing it before starting the car back up.   
  
    They drove in silence apart from McCree’s humming. Hanzo couldn’t recognize any of the tunes and instead focused on the scenery. He kept his ears out for sirens, eyes on the rear view mirror in case they were followed. Nothing out of the ordinary happened, and McCree’s driving was much calmer now. His fingers tapped out a rhythm on the wheel as they waited at one of the lights.   
  
    Hanzo took the time to process everything that just happened. McCree got them arrested. McCree got them out. The man did it like it was routine, a moment of fear or concern didn’t cross his face once. He had the entire situation under control, despite the chaos swirling in the back of Hanzo’s mind.   
  
    He didn’t want to admit that McCree did a good job. He refused. The cowboy got them into that mess in the first place. It was only natural he should correct it.   
  
    “You alright there, sweetheart?” McCree asked.   
  
    “I told you to stop calling me that.”   
  
    The cowboy’s eyes narrowed as he glanced to the side. “Maybe you should give me a reason to.”   
  
    “Meaning?”  
  
    “How about some damn respect, for one. I get that you don’t like me much, but the only reason I ain’t punched you in the jaw to make you bite your sharp tongue is cause Genji would tan my hide.”   
  
    Hanzo rolled his eyes. “You’ve hardly done much to earn my respect.”  
  
    “Pardon?”   
  
    “Your rash and foolish behavior is nothing to marvel at. The fact you haven’t gotten yourself or your teammates killed yet is a string of luck that will surely run out.”   
  
    Suddenly the car was swerving to the left. Hanzo’s face slammed into the glass and he groaned, his vision going cloudy for a moment. He squeezed his eyes shut to clear his head, only for them to fly open when he heard the click of McCree’s revolver.  
  
    He turned his head to see the weapon pointed directly at his throat.   
  
    McCree’s eyes were dark, barely visible under the brim of his hat and his mouth was drawn into a straight line.   
  
    What was he doing? What the hell was he doing?  
  
    “You listen here, Shimada.” McCree pressed the gun closer. “I’ve been putting up with this shit for a while, but the buck stops here. You think it’s luck? Is that what you really think?”  
  
    Hanzo gritted his teeth, feeling sweat form on the back of his neck.   
  
    “You think it’s luck that I saw you perched up there back then? Ready to fire? You think it’s luck that I pretended to pick up a dime, adjust my boot or walk out into open traffic? You think it’s luck I made it out of that hotel room before you got in? You think it’s luck that I started a bar fight in order to keep you away from me? You think it’s luck that I opened a man hole as an escape route?  
  
    “Because let me tell you right now it ain’t _luck._ I know I give off a difficult impression, some wanna-be cowboy full of nothing but whisky and one-liners, who can make a good shot and not much else, that’s what you’ve got right? You pegged me as a guy who took took the bull by the horns and held on for dear life.  
  
    “But I’ve got plenty of damn control over this bull. You wanna know why, Shimada?” The gun clicked again as the barrel rotated, slowly. “Because I ain’t some wanna-be cowboy. I was a Deadlock member at the age of thirteen, dragged on board because I could pick pocket five people off the same sidewalk without any of them batting an eye. I had to be useful so I trained myself with a gun, was a damn near perfect shot by the age of fourteen. I knew how to take a gun apart and put it back together in the same year. You do that a lot Shimada? I bet so since your family dealt with weapons.”  
  
    Hanzo just nodded in response, unable to stop looking McCree in the eye.   
  
    “By age sixteen I taught myself a nifty trick, take out six guys in six shots before they even had time to scream. By age seventeen I was dragged into Blackwatch, underground operations to the highest degree. I learned every trick they had from battle tactics, under cover ops, weapon use, you name it. I worked directly under the guy in charge and if you think I didn’t absorb every bit of information he had then you’d be wrong.  
  
    “You wanna know why you couldn’t catch me, Shimada? Because you underestimated me, you’re still underestimating me. You think all of this is from some streak of luck? Nah, it’s planned. Every move, every line, every taunt. Every time a situation goes to shit I got a plan to fix it because that’s what I _did_. I go in with my guns blazing because I know if things go wrong I can fix it. I’ve got plans lettered from A to Z. You couldn’t catch me because no one else could. You couldn’t catch me because the only damn person who did is now six feet under.”  
  
    His free hand lowered his hat at that phrase, hiding his eyes. “So, Shimada, I’m getting pretty sick and tired of this shit. I’m not your damn target anymore, I’m your ally. I get that we got issues. I hate you just as much as you hate me, but you gotta learn to trust me, and you gotta learn what I’m capable of instead of pretending like it’s up to some chance. You got that?”   
  
    Hanzo meant to nod but he was paralyzed. His mouth had gone completely dry, his heart hammering away in his chest as he stared at the gun. Trust him? How could he when he was pointing a weapon at him.   
  
    Suddenly McCree pulled the trigger.  
  
    Hanzo’s heart stopped, expecting an explosion but there was nothing but a sharp click.   
  
    The cowboy burst out laughing as he leaned back, hand on his hat. He snapped open the revolver, revealing that it was completely unloaded.   
  
    Hanzo was angry but it was hard to process it over the fear that wast still charging through his system. Any insults died as he breathed, trying to force his heart to slow down.   
  
    “You really think I was gonna shoot you? Damn.”  
  
    “What else was I supposed to think?” He shouted. This bastard, insane, ridiculous, who played tricks like that?   
  
    “That’s interesting though.” McCree snapped the gun shut and returned it to his hip.   
  
    “What is?”  
  
    “Well Genji told me about your little fight, back at your home. But with that expression on your face, seems like maybe you ain’t as ready to see them pearly gates after all.”  
  
    Hanzo squinted as he tried to figure out what that meant. When he did the adrenaline rushed out of his system and his shoulders dropped.   
  
    “That’s good,” McCree opened his door. “He was worried a lot about that. Anyway, what flavor do you want?”  
  
    Hanzo’s gaze snapped up to the building they were parked in front of. The Ben and Jerry’s sign seemed so out of place, somehow. It glowed against the darkening sky, lighting up the front of the store. A mother and her child wandered out of the store with a set of cones. The kid eagerly pointed at McCree who offered a wave.   
  
    Hanzo opened his door, stumbling when he got out. Somehow his legs were still shaking.  
  
    “I hate you, Jesse McCree.” He mumbled before he slammed the door.   
  
    “Same here, Hanzo, but you’re on my team. Not only that, you’re important to my best friend, so you should trust that if something goes wrong I’m gonna save your ass no matter what.” McCree grinned at him from across the front of the car. “And I wouldn’t shoot you.”   
  
    “Then why threaten me?”  
  
    “Hey, it got you to listen didn’t it?” McCree shrugged and whistled as he headed towards the entrance. Hanzo was slow to follow, despising the tune and the clinks of the spurs that went along with it.   
  
    He couldn’t stand the noise. He couldn’t stand the way the cowboy greeted everyone inside like he was a local coming in for a daily treat. He couldn’t stand the way he took way too long deciding what he wanted because he insisted on getting flavors everyone would like. He couldn’t stand the way his metal hand tapped on the glass, yet another irritating noise.   
  
    He couldn’t stand the fact that this man got them arrested, and then effortlessly got them back out.  
  
    Hanzo sighed, his exhaustion catching up with him.  
  
    Hanzo Shimada couldn’t stand Jesse McCree.

**Author's Note:**

> there's gonna be more, eventually, gotta focus on some main projects first


End file.
